


Every Other Freckle

by Cristinuke



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alien Abduction, Cock & Ball Torture, Dry Orgasm, Edgeplay, Erotic Electrostimulation, Forced Orgasm, Gags, M/M, Medical Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Overstimulation, Probes, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Sounding, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14166195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: The possibilities of who this is and where he might be all narrow down to ‘alien’ in Phil’s mind and he suddenly has to readjust his escape plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fitzpleasure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022870) by [anachronic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anachronic/pseuds/anachronic). 



> I miss writing Clint/Coulson, and anachronic's works are always there for me. Please go read her fics if you have not done so yet. 
> 
> This story is an homage and a sequel/beside to her fic, Fitzpleasure. It's also not edited. Whoops.

Phil wakes up and instantly knows he’s going to have to go through a lot of embarrassing paperwork when this is over.

He and Clint had been on a mission, he knows that, but then he’d been knocked out; realizing how he woke up, however, is not quite comforting. Phil is currently strapped expertly onto a gurney of some sort, —or maybe it was a chair? — with his legs spread apart a bit and bent down at the knees. It isn’t uncomfortable, but the straps along his thighs and calves are snug and unmoving. His arms are tugged up beside his head, but bent at the elbows, making the angle a more awkward position to try and get out of. The straps along his biceps and forearms don’t help either. Neither do the straps along his hips, abdomen, chest and forehead, really.

He’s also gagged with a bit that’s shoved in between his teeth, and it’s cranked tight enough to nearly touch his molars; his lips are cruelly stretched that way and he’s already sore and drooling at the corners.

But the real coup-de-grâce is the fact that he’s still completely in his Brioni suit. He’s mildly surprised he’s not naked, as he’s wont to do when he finds himself in these types of situations, but he’ll take what he can get. He’s more concerned about the fact that his cock and balls are freely open, the crotch of his suit mangled beyond repair with the abominable cut that exposes him to the world.

It’s obvious by the fake medical implements decorating the room that he’s somewhere designed to make him think he’s in a doctor’s office. He’s trying to figure out where he actually might be when he hears a soft noise and Clint walks in.

He garbles out an inquiring noise, relieved to see that help is on the way, but he’s quick to narrow his eyes when Clint simply smiles and grabs a roll of white string from one of the shelves on the wall.

“It’s good to see you’re awake. We can begin now.” Clint says smoothly, but there’s something off about his cadence. Phil quickly begins to revaluate his stance on Clint being Clint when ‘Clint’ begins to tie his balls with the string, looping it around and between and tightening it until Phil whines at the sharp pressure.

The possibilities of who this is and where he might be all narrow down to ‘alien’ in Phil’s mind and he suddenly has to readjust his escape plans. It becomes a little hard to focus, though, when Clint tugs down on the string, pulling his balls with it and bringing his cock up. It’s a little hard to remember that this has to be an alien when Clint looks up at him with the exact same shit-eating grin he always has and finishes tying the string down somewhere between his legs, making the string taut and his balls stretched tightly.

Phil has a lot of questions at the moment. He tries to moan some of them at Clint, but Clint just shushes him, the cocky little shit.

“Just relax, sir.” _God_ , even the _tone_ is the same. The same fucking cocksure tone Clint uses on him. It’s definitely not a tone Phil has memorized, and it’s definitely not a tone that makes his dick twitch unhelpfully.

Clint simply winks at him knowingly. “Don’t worry your pretty little self, sir. We just need a few samples.”

Phil very much does not like the sound of that. Judging by the ridiculous set-up, Phil knows that the ‘samples’ are probably going to be extracted in a less-than-dignified way. Definitely not willingly, that is for sure. Phil does not want any of this. He especially does not want it when Clint starts trailing his fingers delicately around the tight skin of his balls, making Phil flinch and pant harshly. Nor does he particularly want those fingers to wrap around his slowly hardening cock and start jacking him off, a steady up and down slide that forces him to harden completely.

“Unfortunately, our usual collecting apparatus is currently occupied and otherwise unavailable, so we’re going to have work around it. I didn’t think you’d mind much, sir. I know you like impromptu situations.” Again, Clint winks, this time clearly sticking his tongue out and biting it gently in a childish move that Phil knows all too well as Clint brushing off protocol.

Phil takes a moment to briefly wonder if the real Clint is somewhere around, and is in the middle of trying to come up with a plan to escape and somehow find him, but he gets a little distracted when Clint starts to rub his thumb maddeningly back and forth across Phil’s cockhead. He can already feel himself beading precome at the tip, and then Clint simply uses it to spread it around. He then proceeds to gently dig a nail right underneath his flange, scratching lightly at the cluster of nerves there and making Phil tremble and jerk at the stimulation. He moans out a weak protest and Clint simply snorts out derisively.

“C’mon, sir. You know you like it like that. Don’t get shy on me now.” And Phil forces himself to remember that this isn’t really Clint, and Clint wouldn’t _know that anyway_. Phil has enough self-control to refuse to show any— preferential treatment— to anyone under his command, thank you very much.

Even if it is a struggle every day.

Now he is struggling for a different reason, though he’s starting to think maybe it really isn’t, in the end.

The tie around his balls get tugged, _hard,_ and Phil whines again because it _hurts_ , but he finds that his body clearly isn’t getting the message because he’s staying hard as a rock. Not only that, but his valiant efforts of trying to get soft are quickly becoming useless when Clint doesn’t stop finding little tricks to try and get him off in record time. His wrist is twisting in a move that Phil doesn’t want to think about, and then right when he’s about to lose the battle and come regardless of intent, Clint backs off, taking his hand away and leaving Phil cold and confused.

Phil has to swallow his groan and tell himself he didn’t want an orgasm anyway, and resolutely tells himself he won’t ask Clint why.

Clint tells him anyway.

“I know, sucks like a whore. But it’s going to work out for the best even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. See, we need a good sample size, and by keeping you on the edge and building up that tension, it’s going to help yield a better outcome. I promise, sir, I’m doing you a favor.”

Phil begs to differ.

Clint waits a few moments, simply standing there and regarding Phil the way he usually does during briefings, and Phil really doesn’t understand how these aliens managed to copy him to a tee. Clint even sways and fidgets the exact same way, quirking his mouth at the corner the exact same way so it looks like he’s always in on the joke.

The joke’s on Phil now.

When enough time passed that Clint deems is enough, he reaches over and begins to jack Phil off again. It takes even less time to get Phil to the edge again, and when Clint stops before he can truly tumble into orgasm, Phil wants to growl in frustration. He doesn’t, because he still has his pride— though that’s evaporating quickly— but it gets really difficult when Clint starts up again.

Phil is starting to really sweat by the fourth time Clint starts taking him up the hill again, and he’s really regretting the suit. He’s still wondering why he even has the fucking suit. It’s hot and constricting, and regardless of any wayward daydreams, sex in a suit really doesn’t breathe well.

Phil’s starting to lose count of how many times he’s almost come before being denied that final release. His mind is starting to get a little foggy, and all he can see is Clint’s sardonic grin whenever he muffles a question at him.

“Sir, just lay back and enjoy it.” He says, almost exasperatingly, as if Phil is being particularly dense on purpose. He usually loves the expressions he can pull from Clint when he lays on the ‘I’m totally harmless’ act particularly thick, and right now, in this situation, it’s really not helping.

After what seems like forever, Phil is finally brought to the edge and Clint exclaims, “Alrighty, show time! You about ready, sir?”

Phil narrows his eyes in annoyance because he’s been ready for what feels like hours now.

Clint chuckles and whips out a condom from nowhere, fitting it over Phil’s cock in a slide down that should have backed Phil down for a moment, but rather does the opposite.

“You have permission to come whenever you want, sir.” Clint grins unabashedly, knowing that the phrase would get under Phil’s skin. He really doesn’t have much time to be indignant, however, before Phil has no choice but to let go as Clint jerks him off quickly. It’s probably the most intense orgasm Phil has ever had, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut as he tries hard to jackknife off of the table. The straps holding him down are too secure for that, and he can’t even curl up with the force of it, his dick jerking hard, and his balls pulsing heavily despite the tight restriction around them. Apparently, the combination of his edging and not being allowed to move somehow seems to only prolong his orgasm, and Phil can’t help screaming through the bit as his body shudders hard and he just keeps coming.

When he finally twitches to a stop, Clint’s voice is infused with approval as he says, “That was awesome, sir.” He starts humming tunelessly as he carefully turns his attention to sliding off the condom, and the casualness of it just rolls through Phil. This might as well happen. Why not? Everything else has.

Phil is staring blankly in the direction of Clint’s jean belt loops, still completely out of it, when Clint clicks his tongue, snapping his attention upwards.

“That was really great, but we still need more.” Phil doesn’t have time to parse through what that means before Clint is reaching out to grab his dick and start jacking him off again. Phil nearly panics, writhing as much as he can in his expert bonds, because it’s too much, too soon, too _sensitive_ , and it needs to _stop, please stop_ , but it doesn’t, and he stays hard somehow, and he can’t do this, but it doesn’t matter—

He nearly startles when Clint reaches up with his other hand and wipes away at Phil’s face when it gets too sweaty and tearful. Phil hadn’t even notice when that had started.

The sensation is just starting to move past _unbearable_ and into _tolerable_ when Clint pauses and looks at Phil with a perplexed look on his face. Usually, that expression brings out a smile on Phil’s face, but now he just stares tiredly and tries to swallow around his drool.

“Hold on. I’ll be right back, I have an idea.” He disappears from Phil’s field of vision for a moment, and Phil really doesn’t want to know what Clint’s idea is, because his ideas are either ridiculously brilliant, or Phil ends up paying the price. Phil thinks it’s going to be one of the latter ones today.

Sure enough, when he comes back, Clint has a small box that he sets aside on what must be a table next to Phil’s…—whatever he’s strapped into. He still hasn’t decided between chair and table.

Clint rummages around just out of Phil’s peripheral vision for a moment, and then turns, holding what looks like electrodes, in his hands. When he starts adding them to Phil’s exposed cock and balls, Phil reevaluates his life, hating wherever this is going, and knowing it isn’t going somewhere good.

When all of the electrodes are in place, Clint steps back and nods to himself, grinning, and looking too proud of himself. Phil loves that smile, and hates what it implicates. Especially when Clint turns towards the box and reaches for what must be a dial.

It’s startling at first, the initial shock of electricity. Phil’s been electrocuted before, both in torture scenarios, and in idiot accidents, and this is nothing like those other times. This is infinitely worse, because it’s so localized in such a vulnerable area, and it just keeps getting more and more intense. He’s jerking violently, voluntarily and involuntarily, and then he’s just panting hard again behind his gag, completely useless and unable to escape the relentless sensations his cock and balls are being subjected to.

Eventually it gets to a peak, and Phil thinks he’s about to come— and oh god, he’s actually going to come from getting _electrocuted_ — when Clint shuts off the power with a satisfying little _click_.

There’s space for a breath, and then Phil is trashing as hard as he can, unable to move a fucking _inch_ , and it’s so much worse, more frustrating than before, and he’s yelling and crying, and so absolutely done with it all.

Clint simply waits out his little tantrum, and then beings the process all over again.

“Don’t worry, sir. You’ll get to come soon.” Clint promises him, and Phil wants to beg, _when?_ Instead, he twitches where he lays, and resigns to the slow climb up again.

Eventually, Phil loses track of how many almost-orgasms he has until Clint rolls another condom on him. He reaches down and slowly unsticks the electrodes off of his cock, the unpleasant feeling getting mixed in with the rest, and relocates them to just above his pelvis, and below his belly. Clint has to tug down his pants a bit to expose the area that he wants, and Phil would theorize about why if he had any thought left.

Instead, he’s immediately pulled to the edge and thrown off when the electricity begins again. He comes so fucking hard, he’s whiting out, everything slipping away.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil is still tied down, naturally.

He’s trying really hard to focus, he really is, but his mouth is absolutely killing him with how stretched out the bit makes him, and his balls are beyond sore. His cock hurting is almost like an afterthought at this point. Not only that, but now he has two new points of pain that wasn’t there before. Lifting his head as much as he can with the strap holding him down, Phil spies two shiny strings leading from his chest upwards. He can’t see where they lead, but he figures it might be some sort of pulley system. As he breathes, the strings shimmy, and then Phil realizes they aren’t strings at all, but thin chains.

Chains that lead straight to the two points of pain on his chest. Coincidentally, on his nipples.

Fucking great. His nipples are clamped.

Phil decidedly doesn’t cringe when Clint comes back. And he definitely doesn’t moan brokenly when he sees long, thin, metal rods in his hands. He tries to shake his head to convey his displeasure, but it hardly fazes Clint, who proudly shows him the rods.

Phil’s heart sinks when he sees wires trailing from the ends of the rods. That’s never a great sign.

“These are called sounds, if you didn’t know. They’re going to be so much fun.” Clint declares. Phil negates that last statement with a muffled protest, but Clint barrels on, saying, “Now, this might feel a little different if you’re not used to it, but I think you’ll adapt pretty quickly, sir.” He efficiently lubes up the sounds, and where did the lube even come from? Phil hates not being able to see around the room.

Really, he hates everything about this situation.

Even if it’s a friendly face… But he’s definitely not thinking about that. Nope.

Casually, always casually as if this was a normal thing to do, Clint picks up Phil’s cock, humming happily when he sees that it’s hard. He never really went soft, much to Phil’s dismay.

Clint swipes his thumb across the slit a couple times, eliciting a few ragged moans from Phil before squeezing the top enough to gently push the sound in. Phil is already sore from earlier, and he’s not able to help the whimper that pulls from his throat.

The sound is heavier than Phil thought it would be, and it goes deeper than Phil would want it to. Clint was right in thinking it’s a completely different feeling from anything Phil has ever experienced before, because it feels like he’s getting fucked _from the inside_.

Clint is being lazy with it, sliding it up and down so that Phil can get used to the sensation, and Phil wants to scream because he just wants it _out_.

“You’re doing so well, sir.” Clint praises him, and despite the snap reaction of annoyance, Phil is actually grateful for the comforting words.

But he’s not going to think about that.

At one point, however, the sound brushes against something deep inside, and Phil almost loses it. It’s an unexpected and completely overwhelming feeling, and Phil blanks out for a moment, twitching hard.

“Yeah? Right there?” Clint’s voice is so close, and full of wonder, and then that sensation overwhelms Phil again, and then again. He’s gasping for air by the time Clint takes pity and pauses.

“That would be your prostate, sir.” He says it the same way he reports during a debrief. “I’ll just leave this here.” He gently releases Phil’s cock, laying it down onto his thigh when the sound weighs it down. Phil can feel the wire trailing over the side, and he’s already anticipating the electricity he knows will eventually come.

“Okay, so. Here’s the deal, we’re going to have to squeeze every little bit of sample from you, and we’re going to have to do it manually.”

Clint’s untying the string around his balls as he speaks, and Phil feels himself tear up with relief when his balls come loose. It’s a short lived relief, however, when Clint instead grabs two clear looking plates with what looks like screws at each corner, and starts fitting his balls between them. His cock follows next, and Phil is praying that he misread the intent of the device.

Of course, his prayers have never been answered, so it wasn’t about to start now. Not when Clint starts humming again as he begins to tighten the plates, pinning his cock and balls tightly in between the plates. It’s an unpleasant feeling, getting squeezed, but then Phil is sharply reminded there’s still a sound in his cock when Clint keeps cranking the plates tighter and tighter. He can’t not think about it, and soon he can’t help the series of pathetic whimpers when the plates don’t stop.

He’s getting _crushed_.

It’s gone past claustrophobic and straight into unbearable and yet he’s _still fucking hard_.

When it’s as tight as Clint wants, Phil hears him set something heavy down in between Phil’s legs. He’s moving around, and now he’s whistling a tune Phil can’t place, but would swear he’s heard Clint make before. When Phil tries to look down to see what Clint is doing, he can barely make out the top of the box Clint had brought before. It looks like the electricity box, but bigger. Or maybe it’s just closer, who knows. Either way, it doesn’t necessarily mean better.

He’s proven right when Clint turns on the box with a loud _click_ and Phil’s groin explodes with electricity.

 Phil screams into his gag, writhing as much as he can in his bonds. He can’t get a break, and it’s frying his mind, his dick, his balls, and it’s so much, too much. He can actually feel how the currents are alternating between low and high, and he knows Clint is messing around, keeping it unpredictable, and Phil wants to tell him to knock it off, to give him a minute.

The currents run through his balls, along his cock, into his cock and this is so much worse that anything before.

“You know, it’s funny because the higher the electricity goes, the harder your cock gets. Sir.” Clint tacks on the honorific at the end like an afterthought. Phil believes him, because he can feel every throb and pulse and he’s already on the brink of orgasm.

The electricity stops, and Phil is left shuddering through aftershocks. He feels sweat dripping off his forehead, and his collar is damp, as is the rest of him under the fucking suit. At least the jacket is off, he thinks hysterically. God, even his socks are disgustingly sweaty.

“Oh wait, I almost forgot about these.” Another switch, and the electricity is back, but this time, Phil is surprised to realize that he had managed to forget about his nipples until now. The current is running through both of the clamps that bite into his nipples under his dress shirt, and Phil’s cock is jumping as much as it can in its tight prison. It almost feels like they’re all interconnected, and he just wants to come, even though he knows it’ll hurt so much.

Clint turns off the electricity again, and as Phil struggles to regain some form of control, Clint tells him, “Unfortunately, we’re going to have to make do with just one more orgasm. Time constraints are a bitch. You understand.” Clint reached out and brushed his hand against Phil’s wet face, a comforting touch. “Could you please make it a good one? Try to focus. Remember, it’s for science.”

Phil is too strung out to think of a good enough reply. It turns out it doesn’t matter, because Clint cranks up the electricity— both to his chest and groin— and it’s on the highest setting, and Phil just—

He can’t—

It’s too—

He goes wild.

Overwhelmed.

Overstimulated.

He doesn’t even realize he comes at some point. He’s simply struggling with _too much_.

It goes on forever. It has to be forever.

And then it’s not.

The electricity shuts off, and then it’s just another type of pain. Phil can only lie there limply, limbs still faintly quivering from leftover shocks and adrenaline. His heart is beating so hard he feels like it’s going to burst, and he can’t breathe evenly. Clint notices Phil’s failing effort with oxygen and mercifully reaches up to loosen the bit in Phil’s mouth. He almost has to coax it out of Phil’s mouth because he’s biting it so hard, his back molars trying to engrave themselves into the silicone. He finally loosens his jaw enough for Clint to slip it out, and Phil can’t even form the shape of words he wants to say. For one thing, feeling is waking up harshly in his mouth, and he’s trying to breathe deeply and swallow as much as he can to get rid of the dry feeling. For another, he has no idea what he’d even say at this point. His brain is too cloudy to form a coherent opinion.

He’s distracted anyway when Clint moves back down to fiddle with the plates on his genitals, briefly tightening the plates before finally loosening them up. Phil whimpers weakly but can’t really move. Doesn’t really want to move, even though he should be figuring out how to get out.

Escape. Right. That’s what he should be thinking about.

Not about the test tube he glimpses Clint prepare before grabbing Phil’s sore cock and carefully pulling the sound out. Phil can’t even be ashamed of the small cries that move garners him, because if it was bad going in, it’s even worse coming out, now that he is over-sensitized.

Clint must be collecting the leaking come into the test tube, because Phil feels the tube up against him in an impersonal way. Clint frowns, though, and makes a thoughtful noise, and then he’s stroking Phil’s cock, milking it as much as possible, and Phil wants to cry.

When he finally straightens up, the tube is full, pearly white glistening in a morbid sort of way. He caps it and sets it down on the side table, and then refocuses on Phil, smiling brilliantly.

“This won’t take long, but we just need to make sure we got everything.” He’s moving around and suddenly there’s the sound of tearing fabric and Phil’s pants are being tugged further down, exposing his ass and thighs.

Phil groans out a pleading, “No, wait…” when he sees Clint pull out a long probe with a curved ball at the end. He’s lubing it up and bringing it closer to Phil, and all Phil can say is, “Please, Clint, stop. I can’t—”

Clint smiles again, goofy and careless as he shushes Phil. “Easy, sir. You’re doing great. Almost done.”

He pushes the probe inexorably into Phil, the stretch burning slightly, and Phil can’t stop it, can only take it. Clint finds Phil’s prostate without a problem, and then he’s rubbing it, stimulating it hard with the probe, and Phil does cry.

“Yes!” Clint exclaims happily when more ejaculate trickles out of Phil’s limp cock and into the tube that Clint is still holding up. Phil can feel it moving sluggishly and he can’t get hard anymore, he’s done. It doesn’t stop Clint from continuing to rub against his prostate in long, purposeful strokes. Phil closes his eyes, waiting for it to be over.

Clint manages to give Phil a dry orgasm, and it’s the most painful and least pleasurable thing Phil’s ever had, and he never wants to experience again. It doesn’t flow through him in waves anymore, but rather crashes into him like a wave onto a sharp rock, leaving him shaking and wrung out.

Phil drags his eyes open when he hears Clint _tutting_ disappointedly.

“I guess that’s it then.” He sounded a little put off as if realizing that Phil gave everything he’s going to give.

With a little pat to Phil’s cheek, Clint winks and honest-to-god finger guns at Phil as he leaves the room with the little tubes of Phil’s semen.

Phil hopes Clint— the real Clint— is having better luck escaping this place, because Phil needs a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title from Alt-J.
> 
> Comments save my soul.


End file.
